


The Freedom to Express

by asideofourown, miss_minnelli



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Don't copy to another site, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26670802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asideofourown/pseuds/asideofourown, https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_minnelli/pseuds/miss_minnelli
Summary: A dinner invitation?  What business did Aziraphale have inviting him todinner?At theRitz,no less!  Aziraphale was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid.  He had to know what Crowley would think of this.  Hehadto know what it would sound like.[The first time Aziraphale and Crowley dine together at the Ritz]
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 106
Collections: GO-Events POV Pairs Works





	The Freedom to Express

**Author's Note:**

> Here's our fic for the GO Events POV pairs project! Our prompt was to write a scene we didn't see in the cold open, and I wrote from Crowley's POV. Hope you enjoy! -Addy
> 
> And I wrote Aziraphale! This was fun to write and I hope you enjoy that good good pining! -Liza

**Aziraphale**

Aziraphale adjusted the napkin that was already perfectly situated in his lap. He moved his soup spoon three degrees to the right and then he sighed. Apparently he had sighed loud enough for the waitress to quickly glance his way. Waving her off, he fully took in the dining room before him. 

The Ritz really was beautiful, even filled with what seemed like hundreds of men and women with atrociously tall haircuts. 

The gold ceiling reminded him of Crowley’s eyes. 

Crowley. His adversary. The demon he’d gifted a thermos of Holy water not twenty years ago. The demon whom he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of in those last two decades. The demon who was late to dinner, which wasn’t really a vote of confidence. 

Angels weren’t supposed to worry about their demonic counterparts, but worry Aziraphale did. He really tried to believe Crowley hadn’t used the Holy water in any dangerous way, but what was he supposed to think? The demon hadn’t answered his telegram inviting him to dine at the Ritz that Saturday evening, though that could have been due to the fact that Aziraphale had sent a  _ telegram _ . (The very fact that Aziraphale had managed to send one in London was surprising, since the technology had been put out to pasture, as it were, almost two years prior.) 

In moments of rational thinking, Aziraphale supposed that Crowley had enough sense not to hurt himself. After all, he’d been on earth for so long, why would he bother destroying himself now. Not to mention the fact that he’d been so offended in the nineteenth century when Aziraphale had suggested that the Holy water was some kind of suicide pill. Besides, if Crowley did happen to be nothing more than a pile of goo, Aziraphale was sure he’d have received some kind of praise from the higher ups, or perhaps he would have been introduced to a replacement demon here on earth. Well, those were things he hoped would have happened, and the only thoughts that kept him remotely sane these past years. 

Aside from the fact that Aziraphale had a  _ slightly _ rational fear that Crowley had melted himself with Holy water, there was also the chance that he wasn’t joining the angel for dinner because of the way they’d left things in 1967.

“You go too fast for me,” Aziraphale had said. He’d only meant that Crowley moved too fast through life, and didn’t take time to appreciate what he had, and instead ran around London trying to procure a deadly substance with the help of some ragtag humans. (Well, perhaps he’d actually meant something entirely different, something along the lines of  _ I can’t be with you Crowley, I can’t break the rules, not yet, maybe not ever _ , but that was neither here nor there and Aziraphale didn’t allow himself to think about those unshared thoughts.)

The look on Crowley’s face as Aziraphale had gotten out of the Bentley had been enough to tell that Crowley had understood both meanings and had therefore been doubly hurt. Aziraphale desperately wanted to make it up to the demon, so dining at the Ritz was, among other things, an olive branch. But olive branches only work if the person you mean to give them to actually shows up to receive them. 

Just as Aziraphale was starting to believe Crowley would never arrive, that he had decided Aziraphale was unworthy of his company, or worse, was nothing but a pile of goo somewhere in London, the demon strolled in nonchalantly, ignoring the maitre d’ and suavely settling himself in the seat across from Aziraphale. 

  
  


**Crowley**

Crowley had been all but beside himself when he’d received a blessed  _ telegram, _ of all things. He knew who it was from, of course— the only one in the entire damn world who would send a  _ telegram _ in this day and age was Aziraphale.

That  _ didn’t _ mean Crowley hadn’t set the unopened envelope on his desk and stared at it for a good few hours. And when he’d opened it, he hadn’t really known what to think. 

A dinner invitation? What business did Aziraphale have inviting him to  _ dinner? _ At the  _ Ritz, _ no less! Aziraphale was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He had to know what Crowley would think of this. He  _ had _ to know what it would sound like.

_ Maybe we can dine at the Ritz, _ Aziraphale had said back in 1967, right after he had given Crowley a flask of holy water and had also  _ thoroughly _ shut him down. Which. It wasn’t as though Crowley felt as though he had a  _ right _ to a relationship with Aziraphale, that wasn’t how it worked, that wasn’t how their  _ friendship _ worked, it was only. It had hurt. A bit. To have his feelings laid out so plainly, and then. Well.

But this, this dinner invitation, it was almost like some sort of strange olive branch. If Crowley didn’t know better, he would have thought that Aziraphale was trying to  _ check in  _ on him. But that couldn’t be right. 

So Crowley had debated with himself for three days, trying to figure out if he should go or not (it was never a serious debate, not really— Crowley might be a petty, less-than-sufficiently-evil demon, but he wasn’t just going to ignore an olive branch from  the love of his life his best friend).

And all that debating had made him late. More than fashionably late, as a demon should be, but  _ genuinely _ late. He got out of his car quickly enough that he almost slammed into a pedestrian in the street, and paused for only a moment to fix his hair in the reflection of his window before hurrying into the restaurant.

It only took Crowley a moment to spot Aziraphale, sitting alone at a table for two in the middle of the dining room and fidgeting with his napkin. Soundly ignoring the efforts of the maitre d’ to try to seat him properly, Crowley strode over and flopped down in the seat across from Aziraphale.

“Hey,” he said coolly, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose and raising one eyebrow.

Aziraphale jumped a little, even though Crowley  _ knew _ his friend had seen him coming, and made a flustered little noise before replying, “Hello, Crowley.” 

Crowley watched consideringly as Aziraphale fiddled with the (frankly excessive amounts of) silverware by his hand, avoiding eye contact. He desperately,  _ desperately _ wanted to ask what was going on— what Aziraphale  _ wanted  _ from him— but decided just before he opened his mouth that it would be best to let Aziraphale take the lead. He tended to get skittish, when pressed.

But was this an olive branch, some sort of reconciliation to mend the bridges between them and renew the communication that had all but broken down in the past twenty years? Was it one last dinner before Aziraphale told him to fuck off? Or was it… (Crowley dared to hope, painful though that may be) was it some sort of date, an overture like the sort Aziraphale had implied might come one day, back in 1967?

“Sooo,” Crowley drawled after a solid minute of silence.

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale said, fiddling with his water glass again. “Well. You’re probably wondering why I asked you here. It has been a while since we’ve seen each other, after all.”

“Yep,” Crowley said casually, trying not to let how much that separation had pained him sneak into his voice. 

Aziraphale looked up for the first time, making eye contact, and Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. 

**Aziraphale**

As Aziraphale looked into Crowley’s eyes, he saw years of hurt bubbling up to the surface. He saw panic, and he saw longing. It was too much and he had to look away. 

Dragging his finger through the condensation on his water glass and studying the basket of bread rolls quite closely, Aziraphale admitted, “It’s just that, I was a touch worried about you, my dear, you have to understand.” He wanted to say more, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught Crowley’s fist clenching on the table.

The angel dared to look up at Crowley again, and his lips were pressed together in a thin line, his eyes boring straight through Aziraphale’s very soul. Patiently, Aziraphale waited for Crowley’s response, but when none came after several moments, he filled the silence with nervous chatter. 

“Well, dear. It has been an awfully long time since we’ve spoken and I think we have plenty to catch up on. The humans have been up to quite a lot in the last several years. For example, the Post-It Note. Have you heard of those? They’re dreadfully useful and are doing wonders for stopping people from dog-earing pages in books! I heard they were invented by accident, isn’t that delightful?

“And of course there’s the Walk Man, you see, another interesting invention. I don’t have one of course, because where could one go wrong with a record player, but I do see the merits of being able to listen to Chopin while walking through St. James Park. Quite clever, those humans, wouldn’t you say?”

Crowley, jaw hanging open, stared back at Aziraphale, who had finally decided to close his own mouth and stop prattling on about nothing. 

For a moment, it seemed like the tension between them had dissipated, as Crowley propped up his chin in his hand and said in awe, “ _ You _ know about the walkman? What  _ have _ you been getting up to without me?”

But the air was thick again moments after Crowley finished. That was the question on both of their minds, wasn’t it? What had Crowley been up to? Why hadn’t he called? Aziraphale had only recently started to make sense of the telephone and was finding it quite useful. Surely Crowley could have figured out his number and gave him a call? Or dropped by the bookshop? It wasn’t as if Aziraphale was out doing blessings  _ all _ the time. 

Of course, Aziraphale was much too polite to say any of this aloud, so instead he laughed, though what came out was more of a brittle bark, and said, “This and that. Had a bit of a hand in inventing the pocket calculator. Comforted the Queen when her cousin was killed in seventy-nine. Usual angel-type activities. And you?” This was perhaps the most casual way Aziraphale could think to ask Crowley what on earth could have been more important than alerting his, well,  _ friend, _ that he was still alive and kicking. 

Crowley seemed content with pretending this was a normal conversation, not an interrogation between old friends, but he didn’t answer Aziraphale’s question. 

“Hang on a second, back up to the part about what I’m doing here right now,” the demon’s tone turned teasing, and Aziraphale knew he wasn’t going to enjoy this next bit, “Are you saying you wanted to, to check on me? Because you  _ missed _ me? Huh, angel?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and tucked his head into his menu to avoid being seen blushing because of this incorrigible demon.

**Crowley**

Crowley rested his chin on one hand again, gazing across the table at Aziraphale as he blushed and buried his face in the restaurant’s menu. 

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, fidgeting with the edge of the wine list and avoiding Crowley’s eyes. “Well, you see—”

Crowley waited patiently. The two of them had spent nearly six thousand years as acquaintances, some time slightly less than that as friends (if you asked Crowley) or as  _ definitely most certainly not friends oh no we hardly even know each other! _ s (if you asked Aziraphale), and in those six thousand years Aziraphale had gotten very good at  _ implying _ he cared about Crowley while actually dodging the question very neatly. Crowley assumed it was how he handled himself in his spot-check meetings (interrogations) with the archangels when they started looking at his records too closely.

The thing was, though, that usually Crowley didn’t put things… quite so directly. Usually, he was a bit more subtle too. He’d  _ also _ had plenty of practice dealing in implications and insinuations. It wasn’t his norm, it wasn’t  _ either _ of their norms, to just out and say things like  _ did you miss me these last twenty years. _

“Well, you see,” Aziraphale said again, his voice lower, his eyes fixed firmly on the pristine tablecloth. He was still blushing, but he looked like he was struggling not to frown. Or pout. Crowley’s angle wasn’t great, he couldn’t quite tell.

“I have gotten a bit used to you, being around,” Aziraphale said in little more than a murmur. “I’m well aware, of course, that we’ve spent most of our time on this earth apart, and that for most of our acquaintance there have been gaps  _ much _ larger than twenty years. It’s just…” 

He darted a glance up, and Crowley read a lot more hurt and vulnerability than he was used to seeing in Aziraphale’s expression. Aziraphale usually chose to  _ repress _ that kind of shit. 

So. Huh. Maybe  _ not calling _ for twenty years hadn’t been… great. It hadn’t been great for Crowley, and he’d spent more time than he’d ever admit  _ thinking _ about wanting to talk to Aziraphale, see Aziraphale, but he hadn’t thought… 

Hadn’t thought Aziraphale might have been bothered by it enough to  _ miss him. _

“The way we left things off, last time,” Aziraphale all but whispered, avoiding Crowley’s eyes again and choosing his words delicately. “Well, I thought you might have at least  _ called. _ One does start to worry, after so long. Especially with, well. How we left things _. _ ”

Crowley swallowed hard. Because that was it, wasn’t it? They could (and probably would) dance around the issue all night, but that was  _ it. _ The way they’d left things off, last time, in 1967, had been. Less than ideal.

“I—” Crowley said, absently flicking the stem of his glass and making a pinging noise that earned him a few dirty looks from their fellow diners. “I didn’t think you’d want me to call.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale said abruptly, looking up again. “Crowley, I’d just given you—” He cut himself off with a wince. 

“Yeah,” Crowley said slowly. “Yeah, I know. And then I. You  _ know _ .” 

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I do,” he said slowly.

It was Crowley’s turn to look away. He puffed out his cheeks and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. It would probably be most productive if they just sat across from each other at this table in the godblessed  _ Ritz _ and had an honest conversation like the adults they appeared to be. But that kind of bull was for  _ humans. _

Crowley waved a vague hand. “You know,” he said again, very carefully keeping his tone light and breezy. “We’re, uh. Not driving in the same lane? Not on the same page, to put in in a way you’d like.” 

He looked over. Looked at Aziraphale, sitting across from him at a table in the  _ godblessed Ritz, _ cheeks pink and eyes shy and hair catching the light, and something in his chest cracked a little. 

Crowley leaned forward slightly, and, before he could second-guess himself, said in a hoarse voice, “What did you mean, when you said I go too fast?”

**Aziraphale:**

Bother. This was dangerous territory. Aziraphale couldn’t answer that question truthfully, and Crowley would see right through his lies. On the one hand, if Aziraphale simply said,  _ Oh that, yes well, you see, I love you ever so much, but I’m we’ll never get to be together, so sorry, _ then he would be completely unable to look Crowley in the eye for at least another century. But on the other hand, if he went with  _ Ah, I was merely referring to your terrible driving habits, dear boy, _ then Crowley would either laugh cruelly, and if he was particularly offended, he might even walk out. Aziraphale definitely didn’t want Crowley to leave right now, before they’d even ordered. 

Order! That was a perfect idea. 

Aziraphale subtly flicked his hand under the table, and a waitress arrived at their table not a moment later. She smiled and introduced herself. Aziraphale smiled back, then glanced at Crowley, who clearly had not missed the miracle responsible for the well-timed interruption. Apparently he had enough politeness not to tell the waitress to shove off, which Aziraphale appreciated. He needed a moment to think. 

Crowley gestured toward Aziraphale to order. Aziraphale hadn’t even looked at the wine list or the menu, though he’d been hiding in the latter for several minutes. But, since he was an angel, he ordered one of his favorite wines and two plates of duck  à l’orange , and since he requested those delicacies, the Ritz miraculously had them on the menu. 

Once the waitress left the table with a nod and small smile, Aziraphale placed the menu back on the table and looked back at Crowley, who looked at him expectantly. 

“What are you looking at, dear?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I don’t have the memory of a goldfish. I can recall a conversation we had two minutes ago.” His voice was full of sarcasm, but it was also laced with something else that Aziraphale didn’t want to name, though it sounded a lot like desperation. 

Aziraphale winced at the tone, but carefully covered it by scoffing harshly and replying in his haughtiest tone, “And I can remember a question I asked you  _ five _ minutes ago, which you conveniently avoided answering, I might add.” 

“Oh, what have I been doing recently? Well,” he drawled, and Aziraphale could see he was putting on a rather bored persona, “this and that. Tempted a few politicians to lean a little further to the, uh, shall we say, morally conscious side of things.”

The mood was instantly lightened when Aziraphale let out a laugh and Crowley looked down at the table, perhaps trying to hide an embarrassed smile. “I see, dear boy, you’ve been doing good deeds without me. Maybe I should leave you to your own devices more often, hmm?

And with that, the tension reappeared between them. Crowley’s head snapped back up and there was panic in his eyes. “If that’s what you want, angel,” he said quietly, his voice working to conceal his anxiety.

Aziraphale mentally scolded himself for putting his foot in his mouth and quickly shook his head. “No, no, dear. I’d rather have you around. I was only joking. My apologies.”

“Nothing to ‘poligise for,” replied Crowley, as he took a sip of water.

“Well then, what else has a dastardly demon such as yourself been up to, without angelic supervision?”

**Crowley**

Crowley gazed across the table, trying to figure out how else to answer that question. He didn’t much want to say that he’d spent more than a year sleeping after he and Aziraphale’s little rendezvous in 1967, or that he’d spent a pathetic amount of time after  _ that _ wasting his time wallowing (encouraging sloth, he’d put on his report, but wallowing it had truly been).

Instead, he chose to smile slightly. “I’m insulted that you think I can’t get my wiles done with angelic supervision,” he teased.

Aziraphale huffed slightly, rolling his eyes. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, even though Crowley was pretty sure that  _ was _ what he’d meant.

Crowley stared down at his plate. “Dunno, angel,” he said, keeping his voice light and casual. He let his question— the  _ what did you mean when you said I go too fast— _ drop for the time being. Pushing right now might just cause an argument, and he wasn’t really in the mood. “Isn’t that in your job description? To keep me from  _ wiling _ ? A bit shabby, if you’re all but admitting I can get away with all sorts of evil things under your nose.” 

Aziraphale huffed again, but this time a smile was twitching at the corners of his lips. “Now I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say that,” he replied.

Crowley smirked. “No?” he said, stretching the word out. 

It was a little easier, after that. They fell into the familiar patterns they had followed for thousands of years, a light banter back and forth as they caught up, the kind of push-and-pull one might expect from two ‘adversaries.’

It felt stilted, though. Just a bit. Maybe it was Crowley’s imagination, hearing pauses and stumbles in the conversation where there weren’t any, but things felt just a bit strange between them.

It was Crowley’s fault, probably. Even as he and Aziraphale ate (or, really, Aziraphale enjoyed his meal and Crowley picked at his food while also drinking more than his fair share) and talked, he was half distracted from the conversation, turning everything over in his mind. Six thousand years of interaction, six thousand years of friendship, six thousand years of give and take and watching each other’s backs and fighting and making up, and now they were sitting together in the Ritz at a table for two.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said quietly, when they’d finished their last course and had ordered dessert. 

“Hm?” Crowley said, leaning his chair back on two legs and enjoying the glare he got from a passing couple heading out of the restaurant.

“I, well,” Aziraphale said, and then seemed to steel himself. “Crowley, I know that we may not, ah, have the freedom to  _ express _ everything we may want, but I would hate for something like this to get between us.”

Crowley felt his jaw drop for a solid few seconds before he managed to get his expression under control again. “The freedom to… express?” he repeated, blinking hard. 

Aziraphale pressed his lips together until they were thin and bloodless. “Quite.”

Before he could hold it in, Crowley blurted, “Express  _ what?” _

Aziraphale avoided his eyes. “You  _ know.” _

Crowley exhaled slowly. “Aziraphale, please. Is this a date?”

**Aziraphale**

“I- Crowley, I- I simply can’t answer that. You understand, don’t you? Please, I don’t want to say it,” Aziraphale said, trying to keep the tears prickling behind his eyes from rolling down his cheeks. He swallowed painfully, and Crowley seemed to take pity on him. 

“No, angel, don’t cr- I didn’t mean to-” He broke off and reached his hand across the table, placing it palm up. 

Aziraphale stared at the hand in confusion for far longer than he should have, before realizing Crowley was offering it to him. He slowly extended his own hand and placed it lightly on top of Crowley’s. Crowley wrapped his fingers around Aziraphale’s and squeezed gently. 

“Look at me, angel, please?” Aziraphale looked up. Now Crowley looked like he might cry. “Your speed, we can go at your speed, okay? I never meant to- to push.” 

“Our speed, dear,” replied Aziraphale, finally losing his battle with those pesky tears. “I hope you know I’d never do anything you weren’t ready for either, dear.”

Crowley smiled knowingly. “Of course, angel.” 

They ate dessert in relative silence (it was relative because Aziraphale found his chocolate cake too scrumptious to resist making some very pleased noises) and they passed giddy smiles back and forth whenever they made eye contact.

Aziraphale decided he’d probably never been happier. He’d finally told Crowley, in his own way, how he felt. It was quite freeing and he felt lighter, like perhaps he could float away from the dinner table. 

The bill came and Crowley snatched it out of the waitress’s hand faster than was perceptible by the human eye. The waitress looked bewildered, but smiled to herself at Crowley’s chivalry. Aziraphale smiled as well. Even though money was really no object to either of them, it warmed Aziraphale’s heart that Crowley extended the gesture. Perhaps it was his way of understanding what Aziraphale couldn’t say on the subject of whether or not they were on a romantic date. 

When they exited the Ritz, Crowley paused. He jerked his thumb to the right. “Uh, can I give you a lift home?”

Aziraphale felt a bit weak in the knees. The last two times Crowley had tried to give him a lift somewhere, he’d adamantly said that he couldn’t possibly. But today, he could say yes. Nothing in particular had changed in terms of their positions (see: angel vs demon), but they’d come to a sort of understanding between them and it made Aziraphale comfortable accepting the ride, knowing what lane they were each driving in, to use Crowley’s metaphor.

“Yes, that would be nice, Crowley. Thank you.”

They walked to the car, which was parked just around the block, and Crowley let Aziraphale open his own door, obviously trying not to overstep. The demon drove at a rather alarming speed, which on any other day would have caused Aziraphale tremendous concern, but today he barely noticed it. 

They arrived at the bookshop far too soon but that was the nature of speeding through London doing ninety the whole way. Crowley parked and got out of the car. Aziraphale followed suit, and then they were standing awkwardly, a safe distance apart, with Crowley stuffing his hands in his pockets and Aziraphale clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to make a decision.

After a long moment, he made his decision and stepped forward, into Crowley’s personal space. He was close enough to feel Crowley’s warm breath on his face as he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Crowley’s cheek and then stepped back. 

“Goodnight, dear. Thank you for a lovely...dinner. I hope I’ll see you soon?” 

Crowley spluttered. “Since- since when do you do  _ that _ ?” 

Aziraphale smiled brightly and said, a bit louder than necessary, in case anyone was listening, “That, Crowley, was a  _ normal human way _ of saying goodbye.” He lowered his voice to a more intimate volume. “I had a wonderful evening, my dear, Aziraphale said, and then he turned and entered his bookshop. 

A wonderful evening indeed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I really hope you enjoyed! I'm [here](https://asideofourown.tumblr.com/) if that's something you're into! -Addy
> 
> And I'm miss-minnelli on tumblr! -Liza


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